The Curtain of Silence That Surrounds Me
by TheSilentQuill
Summary: Response to Challenge 25 at Challenge Central. In the wake of Mimi's death, Mark reveals a secret struggle he's been hiding since Roger's withdrawal. How will his friends react to his deafness and how will it impact his feelings for Roger? Mild slash MR
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The characters depicted in the following story do not belong to me. I am just putting my own spin on the situation for my own enjoyment. Thank You Jonathan Larson. **

**Warning: The following story makes mention of same-sex relationships. (Is it even possible to write a RENT story without them).**

_Author's Note: This is a response to Challenge Central 25. This version is unbetaed. Honestly, I have nothing against Mimi, however the beginning of this story is based on the comments on the movie commentary that Mimi probably had a week at most. Post RENT._

It was hard to lay Mimi to rest. We had thought that she had beaten the odds when she came back to us after hearing Roger's song. We were wrong. We brought her to the hospital to recover, but she never left its walls. She died a week later, on New Year's Eve. It was ironic that her life came to an end when so many people celebrated new beginnings. I stood next to the casket by the open grave and thanked God or whatever Higher Power was out there for that final week. At least we were able to say our goodbyes.

The funeral was simple, similar to Angel's, only three months previous. We remembered Mimi's wonder and her passion for life. Roger told us the story of the first time they met and the way that she inspired him to complete his song. Mimi was the one who taught him that there was no day but today. She had taught that to many people. Other people shared their memories or told stories about what Mimi meant to them. The church service concluded with Roger singing Your Eyes for her one last time.

Roger's tap on my shoulder startled me from my reverie. I turned towards him. "Mark, c'mon. We need to go meet the others at the Life. Our memorial isn't finished." I picked up my camera and followed him. We had agreed that Mimi would not want us to remain sad and sullen, so we would celebrate her life by having a party in her honor at the Life Café. Mimi would want us to live each moment as our last, the day of her funeral included. She would have wanted us to have a good time. This was going to be hard for me. I don't do well in large groups.

As soon as Roger and I took our seats, I got out my camera. Roger was immediately on my case. "Mark, come out from behind that thing. Mimi would've wanted you to be a part of the celebration, not hiding from it." I shook my head and mumbled something about needing to document all the parts of the memorial in order to complete my tribute to her. Roger rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man. Just remember to feel tonight. You're part of this celebration, not some objective stranger. Mimi wouldn't want you to isolate yourself."

Roger doesn't understand. I don't hide from life behind my camera; I experience life more richly through it. Take this party, for example. I have the film running because I can't follow most of the conversations and I still want to know what happened. The camera captures the memories for me and allows me to access them. It's also a good excuse to stay quiet when I'm not sure what to say. An objective filmmaker can't go interspersing his opinions all the time. The camera allows me to keep my secret.

It's not like I have some deep dark past that I'm hiding or anything. I'm not doing drugs, getting into male prostitution or living a double life as a semi-evil professor's assistant at an upstate college. I came out as bisexual a long time ago, so I'm not hiding my sexuality. I don't have a secret lover. Hell, I'm not even HIV positive, not that my group of friends would think anything about that. The secret is quite personal. None of my friends have guessed it, although I think Angel may have suspected, but he...she was always more perceptive than most people. She always turned towards me to talk to me and got my attention with a wave or a tap on the shoulder before she spoke. I think she knew I had to read her lips.

Yes, reading lips, or speechreading is something I've been doing for a while...ever since Roger got violent when he was going through withdrawal. Collins arrived just as his fists slammed into either side of my head. He locked Roger in his room and got Maureen to take me to the hospital. Maureen was only able to give them my name and address before she had to get back. She didn't want to leave anyone alone with Roger in case there was more trouble, so she didn't hear the diagnosis. The blows to my head had caused some sort of damage to something in my ears. From that day forward, I was completely deaf.

The head trauma earned me a stay in the the hospital (paid courtesy of Benny) and gave me time to learn to cope. The hospital sent speechreading teacher to me, and a nurse taught me some basic sign language so she could communicate with me. I learned about devices that could help me by flashing lights or putting words on the phone or TV, but I knew I could never afford them. Instead, I found my own solutions. My old-fashioned alarm clock was fine if I slept with it under my pillow. The bells shook me awake. Instead of a fancy phone for deaf people, I found a second-hand answering machine and started "screening" my calls. Basically, I let my roommates check the tape. I didn't own a TV, but insisted on only going to foreign films so I could read the subtitles. I found free sign language classes at the school for the deaf, which I supplemented with conversations with some of deaf homeless people around Alphabet City. Those conversations were more interesting and taught me more than the fabricated dialogues we went through in class. The vocabulary was certainly more useful.

This was the period of time when Maureen and I dated. If she wanted to go to a play, I would ask around at my sign language class and get tickets for the night when interpreters were provided. When we went out to eat , I'd let her order. She sat through a number of Kurosawa films that she hated, but had subtitles for me to read. We had a good time, but we were no longer soul mates. She's the type who likes to talk when we were "otherwise occupied", and I guess incoherent moans were not enough response for her. One day, she finally told me that she was seeing someone else and had decided to leave me for her. It hurt my feelings and my pride, but I understood. She was more at ease with a woman, just as I've been feeling more comfortable with men. There's no pretending with men. They tell it like it is and don't blow up at you for something you did months before.

I had let my mind wander too long at the party. Roger shook me again. "Mark, man, are you OK? That's like the fifth time I called you. You got to stop being so tense about everything. If you're going to zone out behind that thing, I'm going to make you put it down." Since I didn't want to anger Roger, I took the camera and sat it on the end of the table, still running, using my coat as a makeshift tripod. We drank, toasted Mimi, and, yes, danced on the table tops again. Unlike last year, Benny was a part of the celebration instead of the recipient of a musical lecture. I joined in the dancing with a heavy heart. I could also tell that Roger wasn't as enthusiastic as he pretended to be. We both missed Mimi too much.

Roger. He's been my best friend for a long time now. Even though he hit me, I don't blame him for my deafness. He was a different person while he was on drugs, a person who no longer exists. That person died with Roger's cravings. I admire his strength, his compassion and his ability to feel so deeply. He's a wonderful poet. I miss hearing his songs. I love watching him as he works. When he writes, It's like I can see past the surface into his very soul. Roger is more than a sexy body and a guitar. He has the soul of an artist. I've been finding that my feelings have deepened for him. I want to protect him from the guilt that I know he will feel when I tell him about being deaf. I'm also scared that when he finds out, he'll see me as damaged goods. I don't think I could handle Roger's pity.

I should tell him everything. I should tell him that I've been staring at him for the last three years. I know every detail of his face, from the rings of gold circling the pupils in his green eyes, to the fine lines and that faint scar he got when he broke the window shortly before he put me in the hospital. I know his habits, such as he always stirs his coffee three times and sips it before he sits down and always puts on his left shoe first. I should tell him that I've been wanting to talk to him about the way I feel since April died. I should tell him that when Maureen left me, I was scared because I didn't have her to hide behind, yet, at the same time, strangely relieved since I was free to date whomever I wanted. I should tell him that I don't blame him for this curtain of silence that surrounds me, but I long for the day when he reaches through it to me. I should tell him I love him.

The party was winding down. I already had a slight buzz from what I had drunk. Unlike those who call alcohol Liquid Courage, it had the opposite effect on me. I had thought about telling Roger my secrets, but I lost my nerve. We walked back to the loft without speaking. For once, the curtain surrounded Roger, too.

_A/N 2 I shall endeavour to update at a fairly good rate but I'm not guaranteeing a steady pace. I'm in the process of moving, plus have started a new job. Rest assured, this story will be complete by December 25!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Although I do own a copy of the DVD and the sountrack, RENT still does not belong to me.**

**Warning: Some swearing. Believe me, it's nothing compared to the language I'm hearing through my apartment walls.**

_A/N: I'm working without a beta for this story. All mistakes belong to me. Further notes at the end of the chapter. _

Roger has never been a morning person, but the combination of grief and a hangover kept him in bed longer than usual. I got up early and realizing that Roger would be in bed until at least noon, I decided to use the opportunity to go over the film I made of the memorial. Whenever I need to figure out what was going on in the lives of my friends, I just use the excuse that I need to edit some film. While Roger slept off the after effects of the party, I occupied myself with deciphering a night of missed conversations. Sometimes I wish we could rewind life as easily as a reel of film. It would be easier to catch what I miss.

The process I go through with these films takes a lot of concentration. I have to stare intently at the images on the screen, so I don't notice a lot of what's going on around me when I'm working. I didn't notice the movement behind me and nearly jumped out of my skin when Collins suddenly appeared next to me and then plunked himself beside me on the couch.

"AAAHHH! Collins! You scared the crap out of me! When did you get here?"

"Roger tossed me the keys twenty minutes ago."

"Roger's up?"

"He said you were too absorbed by your editing to notice that the phone rang. What the hell are you so interested in? Those look like clips from last night."

"I'm editing them while the feelings are still fresh in my mind."

"Man, you've also got the sound turned off."

"I'm focusing on the images I want. Sometimes the sounds distract me from really seeing what I captured," I bluffed.

"How long have you been staring at a screen today? Three hours? Four? You need to get out into the real world. Let's go for a walk and maybe a bite to eat at the Life. Roger, you joining us? My treat."

Roger was poised over the kitchen sink, sipping a vile red concoction that I recognized as Benny's favorite hangover remedy. I think the principle behind it is that it tastes so disgusting that you forget about the headache. "Nah. I'm still pretty sore. You two go ahead."

"Suit yourself,'" said Collins. I grabbed my camera and we left the building and wandered around the neighborhood. I filmed a bit, but said little. I couldn't tell if Collins was saying anything. After about a half-hour of walking, we ended up at the Life Café. As we entered I made note of how the atmosphere had changed since last night. During the day, an entirely differed crowd of people came to the Life. Instead of the late shift, there were different staff. During the day, no one has the audacity to haul the tables together and dine like a huge family. The Café was compartmentalized: Small clusters of businessmen in their three-piece suits were on one side with students eating and studying at the same time along another wall. Here and there friends met each other for coffee and lovers dined together. The organized chaos of our party was replaced by the chaotic organization of people going about their lives.

We sat down at a table for two, near the students. A waitress came to take our orders. Collins ordered pasta and I decided on tea and a cup of miso soup. I wasn't all that hungry, but the mixture of tofu and seaweed was appealling. The waitress left us for another table. She had a completely different style from the waiter we had last night. While he tended to flirt with any male in the restaurant, this woman went about her business quickly and efficiently. It's funny how two people could do the same job so differently. I guess I was getting too caught up in my thoughts since I didn't realize that Collins was talking to me until he actually waved his hand in front of my face.

"Mark, what the hell is going on with you. I called you name, like, 5 times."

"Sorry, Collins, I was just thinking and didn't realize you were talking."

"That's been happening a lot, lately. Mark, level with me. Something's up. Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, Collins."

"Bull. You never used to be this spacey and jumpy. Mark, be honest, here. Are you high?"

"WHAT!"

"Are you on smack? E? LSD? Crack? Coke? I'll keep naming them."

"I'm not high, you idiot. Why would I do that to myself? Especially after seeing Roger go through withdrawal."

"You've been acting weird for a while. The last time I noticed anyone act so strange was when Roger started using."

"I'm clean, Collins."

"You're sure about that? You could be in denial or something."

"Jeez, Collins, I'll get a fuckin' drug test. I. Am. Not. High."

"Alright. I believe you, but that still doesn't explain why you're acting so weird."

"Maybe it's grief. I'm still getting over losing Angel and Mimi."

Collins shook his head. "You've been acting strange long before Angel died. It's just been more frequent lately."

"Well, I've got a lot on my mind."

Collins kind of gave a half nod, the kind that said, "I know you're not telling me everything, but suit yourself." Then his expression changed and he gave me a curious look. Just then, an arm reached from behind me, startling me. The arm placed my tea and soup on the table. The waitress had returned without warning. She delivered Collins' pasta without comment and then returned to her other duties. Collins kept shooting me these weird looks as we ate. We didn't attempt conversation until we finished.

"That was good," I said, just to fill the gap in conversation.

Collins looked at me again. "Mark, I don't know how to ask this, but something just occurred to me. Can you hear me?"

Needless to say, I was shocked. How had he guessed? I floundered over the words, trying to keep my cover in place. "How...What makes you say that?"

"It explains why you stare at people that are talking to you so hard. And the fact you don't talk on the phone anymore, and the way you always get startled when someone approaches you from behind, like that waitress did."

"She came out of nowhere!"

"No, she didn't. She told us our food was ready before she set it down."

" I guess I was thinking too hard to notice."

"Oh, come off it, Mark! You also didn't notice that I haven't actually been using my voice since we stopped eating. I'm only mouthing the words.!" He had? I suppose he could be doing that. "How long, Mark? How long have you been lying to us?"

"I've never lied."

"Yes you have. A lie by omission is still a lie. You also lie whenever we ask if something is wrong. How long?"

"Since Roger's withdrawal," I whispered.

"Really? That long? How'd it happen? What can you hear? Can it be fixed? What about a hearing aid or surgery. They have this bionic ear thing now. How did you get away with faking your hearing for so long? How..." Collins finally ran out of breath.

"Give me a chance to answer, why don't you?"

"Sorry, man. I'm just curious. It's not every day you discover your closest friend has been keeping something this big from you. You could hear before, right? You don't talk like a deaf person."

"How do deaf people talk?" I couldn't help but be a bit defensive.

"You know, muffled and nasal. You talk normally."

"Yeah, I used to be able to hear. Remember when Roger had that violent spell and I ended up in the hospital?" Collins nodded. "It happened then. I don't exactly understand how it works, but the blows to my head wrecked something in my inner ear and that ruined the nerves. It can't be fixed."

"What about a hearing aid?"

"Won't work. I don't have any hearing now. You need some hearing for hearing aids to work. And since the nerves are wrecked, the doctor said I won't be able to get a bionic ear."

"How have you been able to keep this from everyone for so long?"

"Little things. Remember, we started screening our calls when I got out of the hospital. I learned speechreading when I was there, and apparently, I'm pretty good at it because I pay attention to visual details, and I've had the advantage of knowing what words sound like. I make I'm facing people I talk to, and my camera helps a lot, too."

"So that's why you're so focused on that film from last night. I get it. You record conversations and then play them back to find out what's going on. No wonder you're obsessed with getting everything on film. But how did you finish Today 4U? The sound was good on that. I don't know the technical stuff, but you need to have good sound in a movie. And some of the voices came from off camera in that."

"You know I've been taking sign language?'

"Yeah, so you can document the plight of homeless deaf people and interview them directly, right? OH! I get it now."

"Yeah. Sign helps me in big crowds. A lot of the things I go to have interpreters. Much easier than trying to read lips at a distance. Anyway, one of the people in my class is a film student, so he gave me a hand with the sound mixing, in exchange for my critique of his visual transitions and teaching him some camera tricks."

"Damn, you're good at hiding. Too good at it, in fact."

"Yeah."

"Why are you hiding it from us?"

"Sometimes, I find it's hard to be myself. Roger, Maureen, Benny, you and even Joanne tend to look to me as the strong one. I'm scared to let you guys know when something's wrong with me because then, who will you lean on?"

Collins looked chagrined. "You really feel like that? Damn it, Mark. Everyone hurts. No one is strong all the time. If you try, you'll end up killing yourself a little at a time."

"I'm learning that. I'm glad you know. It makes it a bit easier. But, please, don't tell Roger. He blames himself for April killing herself, and I'm thinking he believes that if he didn't go to Santa Fe, Mimi would have stayed in rehab and would still be alive. I don't want him blaming himself for this, too."

"You've got to tell him one day, Mark. For your sanity, but also for your physical safety. What happens if there's a fire and you don't know the smoke alarm is going off?"

"I bought one with a light that flashes. It will wake me."

"Mark, we all have burdens in life. They're meant to be shared."

"Thanks for the advice, Mr. Cliché."

"It's not a cliché if it's true. You've got to let other people in on your secret."

"Not Roger."

"What about Maureen and Joanne."

"Maureen would try to pity me and then use me as the basis of another protest. Joanne would be alright with it, but it would only be a matter of time before Maureen found out. I want to stop hiding this, but I don't want to be judged, and I don't want to hurt anyone with the knowledge."

"You want to be able to be yourself. No strings attached. No judgment."

"Exactly."

"Come with me. I've got an idea."

_A/N 2: Bionic Ear is actually a name brand of one of the types of Cochlear Implants on the market. When I started learning ASL in 1992, that was the term being used. Now, there are two companies that primarily provide cochlear implants. I'm also using the theory that when Roger hit Mark, it cracked the bones behind his ears and also caused his cochleas to leak. If the fluid is removed from the cochlea, the hair cells inside it, and possibly the auditory nerves are damaged. Most people who have this damage only have it in one ear, so Roger really did a number on Mark._

_A/N 3: Many thanks to my reviewers. I greatly appreciate the encouraging words._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: RENT does not belong to me. It belongs to the estate of the Brilliant Jonathan Larson.**

_Author's Note: I haven't had the opportunity to see the musical, or read the libretto, so I'm taking some liberties with the character's pasts. Again, this is not beta'ed._

"Paul."

"Pammy."

"Sue."

"Jeff."

"Matt."

"Jessica."

"Gordon."

"Tom...Collins. Collins."

"Mark."

"Daniel."

Life Support. Collins' idea was to bring me to a Life Support meeting. It made sense. People shared their burdens all the time. But it scared the hell out of me. For one thing, I left my camera in its bag. If this was going to work, I couldn't hide behind it. I needed to participate in the meeting, not just observe it. I don't think I'd need to record the meeting, though. Sitting in a circle makes it much easier to read lips, plus the meetings usually didn't have a lot of interrupting. Everyone respected each other enough not to interrupt. Most of the time, I only had to watch the reels of the group once to catch it all.

Paul began the meeting. "Mark, you're not filming today?" I shook my head. "That's fine. Who wants to start?"

I certainly didn't want to. I needed some time to work up my nerve. To my relief, Collins put up his hand. "Mimi's funeral was yesterday."

Paul was always consistent with his responses. I guess that's why everyone feels so comfortable with his leadership. "How do you feel about that, Collins?"

Collins looked heavenward and blinked a couple of times. "It's hard. I keep thinking of my Angel, and how much I miss her. I keep thinking about how lonely the world will be without Mimi. I'm scared that my friend Roger will be so consumed by grief that he'll start using again. I'm scared, because the funeral reminded me of my own mortality. I'm also worried for Mark, who's trying to pick up the pieces for everyone when he's hurting, himself."

Collins worried about me like that? That was interesting. I thought he saw me as the strong one, too.

"I'm sorry about Mimi," said Jeff.

"It helps to talk about it," replied Collins.

"Who wants to share next?" Paul asked.

I sighed. I knew it would be difficult, but I wanted to share too. Collins was right. Burdens do need to be shared, and this was easier than telling my friends. I raised my hand. It was now or never. Paul gave me an encouraging smile and told me to go ahead.

"As Collins said, Mimi died. I'm sad because I'll miss her. She lived life as vibrantly as she could. I miss her smile and her honesty. With Mimi, there were no secrets. She was always open about who she was, and she never apologized for it. I admired her for that. I was also a little jealous of the way she was so free to express what she felt. She wasn't afraid to take chances. Not like me. You all know I'm HIV negative, but I do have my share of baggage that I carry. I guess I'm looking for a place to unload it."

"Mark, remember, you're free to share anything with the group. We won't judge you. You don't have to be the strong one here," said Paul.

I nodded. "It's hard for me to admit my fears. I've been hanging onto them for so long. I guess I should start by admitting a secret I've been keeping for a long time. I've only told one person that I'm close to, and that was because he guessed it a couple of hours ago."

"Go ahead, Mark," encouraged Paul. "We're here for you, and this is between us."

"About 18 months ago, I became deaf. I've been hiding it ever since. I've been speechreading and learning sign and using my camera to cover for me."

"Why did you keep it hidden?"questioned Paul.

"I guess it comes down to a question of dignity. I don't want to be pitied. I don't want to be considered a freak. I don't want people thinking I'm stupid. I don't want idiots shouting at me trying to make me hear better. I keep quiet so I don't make a fool of myself and respond inappropriately to something I missed. I also feel like I don't belong. If I tell people, I don't fit in with them anymore. I'm not a hearing person anymore, but since I've heard most of my life, I don't fit in with Deaf culture either. That's hard."

"What about your friends?" prompted Paul. "Do you fit in with them?"

"Somewhat. With them, I've had much more practice speechreading, so I understand more of what they say. Although, I think they may suspect something is wrong. Collins, here, accused me of being on drugs before he guessed the truth." From people's facial expressions, I could tell they we chuckling.

"Why don't you tell them then?"

"Again, it's about dignity. I'm afraid that my friends may pity me and treat me like an invalid. I'm afraid that Maureen will exploit my deafness as the inspiration for some performance-based protest. I can just picture it: something involving cows demanding for access to Broadway shows in Moo . She's big on the cow metaphors. And I sure as hell don't want Roger thinking that I'm less of a person because I can't hear.

"Wait. I thought you don't want Roger to blame himself. Why do you care what Roger thinks of you?" Asked Collins.

Across the circle, Pammy spoke up. "Isn't it obvious? Mark loves Roger."

My cheeks must have gone scarlet. Collins, however, didn't quite understand. "Of course he loves Roger. They're closer than brothers."

Pammy looked exasperated. "Not like that. Mark's in love with Roger. It's totally obvious when they're here together. Honestly, gay or straight, men are totally clueless."

"Is this true, Mark. Are you in love with Roger?" asked Paul.

I nodded. I might as well come clean about my feelings as well. "I haven't told him, though."

"Why not?" prompted Paul.

"I don't want to wreck our friendship. Plus, he's straight and he probably sees me as a little brother."

Collins looked at me with a questioning look on his face. "Mark, where did you get the idea that Roger's completely straight?"

"Well, ever since I met him, he's only been with women. April... Mimi..."

"You guys talk all the time, yet he hasn't told you about his past? He's slept with more men than I have, and that's saying something!"

"Roger is GAY?"

"No, Roger is Bi. I knew him back when he was in high school and I was finishing a teaching credential by doing an internship at his school. He kept the guys quiet because of people's generally shitty attitude towards homosexuality, but I saw what went on in the locker rooms. And during his rocker days, there was a period when he didn't care who he was sleeping with. I guess he was more selective once you moved in with us."

Paul decided to brink us back on topic. He waved his hand to get my attention. "Mark, how do you feel now?"

"Relieved. It's good to be honest about what I'm going through. I noticed, since I started talking, all of you have made more effort to face me. Sue even spit out her gum. I appreciate the sacrifice, Sue." Sue was a notorious gum chewer. "I feel more hopeful and less scared. No one here really changed their attitude towards me. I'm still scared of talking to Roger. I don't want to be rejected."

"Does anyone have anything to say to Mark?" Paul asked.

Pammy raised her hand. "Mark, don't hid your feelings until it's too late. Remember, No Day But Today."

Gordon looked at me. "I admire you, Mark. You had something catastrophic happen to you but you managed to learn to adapt and continue to live your life. When I found out I was positive, I just shut down for a long time. It took me a long time to realize that I was wasting my life and I couldn't change the past. You figured out how to deal with your challenges. Don't let fear control you when it comes to love."

Collins reached over and hugged my shoulders. When he pulled away, he said. "I'm proud of you, Mark."

The meeting continued. I watched and responded to others talking about their fears and dreams and feelings about the future. As we left the meeting, I felt encouraged. I also realized that no one would break through the curtain and save me. I was the one who had to reach beyond it.

_A/N 2: Deaf culture comes from the belief that Deaf people are not disabled, but are a linguistic minority. They share language (sign language), experience and identity; hence the capitalization of Deaf. Cochlear implants are controversial amongst this group, because it means that fewer children learn sign language and grow up with the Deaf identity._

_A/N 3: I'm not entirely certain when the next chapter will be posted, as I am starting my new job as a teacher of the deaf tomorrow. I'll try to get the next chapter completed by the weekend, but no guarantees since I have a cochlear implant presentation to give and classroom amplification systems to deliver._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own RENT. I am merely playing with the characters.**

_Author's Note: Many apologies for the long wait on this chapter. Work's been very hectic lately. I've incorporated some signing in the chapter. As per my Harry Potter fanfic of a similar theme, I've adopted the convention of _**bold text **_to mean signing. This is treated as diologue without using quotation marks, punctuation wise. Meaning if I start a new paragraph, it's a new speaker. _**"Bold in quotes" **_means simultaneous speech and sign. And all signed conversations are translated into English. ASL and English are very different languages and don't have the same grammar or structure._

Roger was noticeably absent from the loft when we returned from the Life Support meeting. I noticed the flashing light on the answering machine and brought Collins' attention to it. After listening to pleas from my folks for me to call them, there was a message from Roger. A new club had opened up and was autditioning ot be the lead guitarist for the house band. He would be gone for hours.

Collins gathered the necessities for tea and brewed us a pot. We sat in silence for a while. I could tell he had a million questions going through his head. After about ten minutes, he started to talk again.

"Man, I don't know what's more shocking: that you're deaf or that you're in love with the man who deafened you." He shook his head.

"I've come to terms with my deafness, Collins. I had to accept it. It's not as if I'm going to wake up one day and suddenly have my hearing back."

"What's it like anyway? Is it just silence?" Collins asked.

"For the most part. Sometimes I can feel really loud noises, like when we go to the clubs and there's a lot of bass, I can feel the throb of the music.But most of the time, It's like watching tv without the sound. I guess I've gotten used to it."

"Do you miss your hearing?"

"I try not to dwell on it. You know, forget regret and everything. I can't change what happened, any more than you can go back in time and avoid getting HIV."

"Sometimes I think what my life may have been like without AIDS, but then I realize if I had never got the virus, I wouldn't have met Angel"

"Sometimes I have feelings like that when I pass a playground and realize I can't hear the children laughing and having fun. Or when Roger plays his guitar. I miss his voice. Is his song any good? I got the words, but how's the music."

"Roger's going to flip when he realizes you never heard his song. But yeah, it's good. Very good." Collins got quiet again, so we spent a few minutes staring at each other. I guess Collins was trying to process what I told him. "You know, Mark, the group at life support was right. You're going to have to tell Roger."

"That I'm deaf or that I love him?"

"Both. If anything works out between the two of you, it wouldn't be a good start to your relationship if you're hiding your deafness. And I think he should know your feelings toward him. Roger feels very deeply, but he's not the kind of person to make a move. Remember, Mimi was the one who started things between the two of them."

"Isn't it too soon for Roger to consider another relationship? Mimi's only been gone a few days."

"No day but today, Mark."

"Yeah, but I don't want to hurt him. He may not be ready."

"He hurt you, Mark. He made you deaf."

"Physical wounds heal much quicker than emotional ones. You know that, Collins. Besides, Roger's changed from the strung-out junkie who hit me. He wasn't himself."

"How can you be so forgiving about this? It's not my life he changed, yet I'm pissed off at Roger for doing that to you."

"It's not as if he decided that he was going to make me deaf."

"But he did put you in the hospital, Mark. Why are you protecting him? I noticed at Life Support, you didn't tell how you lost your hearing."

"I don't know! Maybe I'm fucked in the head or something, but I didn't want the people at Life Support to reject Roger. He still needs them, even more than I do."

"You can't protect him forever, Mark. Actions have consequences. Your lying won't make it easier for him."

"Yeah, I guess so."

All of a sudden, Collins jumped up and ran across the room. I realized the phone must have rang. Collins had his back to me, so I couldn't get his side of the conversation. After a minute, he hung up the phone.

"That was Joanne," explained Collins. "She and Maureen are coming over for a bit. They just want to come over to hang out for a bit."

"Alright."

"Are you ging to tell them?"

"Hell no!"

"I think you should."

One of the advantages to being deaf is it's really easy to stop listening if you don't want to talk about something. All I had to do was turn my back and ignore Collins. I didn't want to tell Maureen. Joanne, I figured would be reasonable, but Maureen had a habit trying too hard to protect me. She went ballistic whenever I sneezed. Once, when we were together, I caught a mild case of the flu. Maureen thought I was dying and bundled me in fourteen blankets, and insisted on forcing soup down my throat, and would have blown my nose for me if she could.

I didn't want to get another lecture from Collins so I busied myself with collecting dirty laundry from around the apartment. He started following me around. After a few minutes he grabbed my shoulder, so I'd look at him. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Man, don't do that! Tap me on the shoulder or something."

"Why were you ignoring me?"

" I didn't want to have to deal with a lecture about telling Maureen that I'm deaf."

Collins got this weird smirk on his face. "I think you just told her. That's why I was trying to get your attention. The girls are here."

I turned around and Maureen and Joanne were standing behind me. Maureen's mouth was haning open in shock. It was not a flattering look on her.

"Marky? You're deaf? CAN'T YOU HEAR ME?" She shouted something else afterwards that I didn't catch. Shouting distorts lip movements and I couldn't exactly tell what she was saying.

Joanne winced in pain. "Maureen, honey, tone it down. Shouting won't help him, and you don't want to make everyone else have hearing problems either."

"How do you know shouting won't help him?" asked Maureen. She turned to me. "Don't you just need for me to be LOUDER."

I shook my head. "No. It doesn't work that way. I don't have any hearing left. And shouting makes it hard for me to read your lips."

Maureen cocked her haid to the side. "You obviously could hear before, when we started to date... did you lose your hearing when you started taking me to those awful Kurasawa films?"

"Yeah. I liked the subtitles."

"So that explains why you never wanted to talk when we were in bed anymore."

Collins and Joanne had a hard time keeping straight faces. After a few seconds., they looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"I suppose that would put a damper on things in the bedroom," chuckled Collins. "Although, Mark, how would you be able to tell if she yelled the wrong name?"

"Not funny, Collins." I whined.

"No, very funny, Collins." Maureen grinned.

Joanne didn't really join in the banter, but instead waved to get my attention. "You've been deaf since I met you?"

"Yeah, " I replied.

"You must be one good speechreader. My cousin was alright, but she always missed a lot of what was said. You had me fooled."

"Your, cousin, pookie?" asked Maureen.

"Yeah, my cousin Amy. She was born deaf. She lived down the street from me when I was growing up, so I grew up knowing how to sign. Do you sign at all Mark?"

"A little. I'm in the intermediate class at the school for the deaf. Maybe now that I have someone to practice with, I'l retain more.. Mostly I read lips, but the signing is good for large groups."

"Or when you're too drunk to read lips. Amy and I used to go clubbing, and we'd start singing after the third drink.My drunken signing was much better than her drunken speechreading."

Collins suggested going out again, so I insisted on going to the laundromat. There's an old adage that if you lose one sense, the others take over. Well, I still need my glasses, but my nose seems to have developed super powers and I couldn't deal with Roger's old socks any longer. The laundromat wasn't too far and we arrived after a few minutes and started looking for open washers. Now, I've been doing my own laundry ever since high school, and have been coming to this laundromat for the last 4 years. Even after I lost my hearing, I've done my own laundry. Maureen didn't seem to understand that. She put herself in charge of everything. She found and empty machine by making a big production out of listening to the washers. She wouldn't even consider my method of lightly touching the top of the washer to feel for vibrations.

When I needed quarters, she dragged me to the counter and did the talking for me. Never mind the fact that my voice still works perfectly fine. Maureen handled buying the soap and keeping an ey on our machine. And loading the dryer. Maureen even folded my underwear. All the while she kept repeating the mantra, "Don't worry about it, Pookie. I'll take care of it for you."

We returned to the loft briefly to put away the clothes. Maureen decided to do me a favour and put them away for me, too. I do not like her rumaging through my underwear drawer. She insisted on reorganizing my boxers by colour and made rude coments about the fact I still had the same box of condoms in the drawer from before.(She had doodled a naughty cartoon on the box). So what if I hadn't gotten laid since she broke up with me?

Joanne decided to treat us to dinner at a Chinese place not far from her apartment We sat down at the table and the waiter came up to us. I had some trouble reading his lips. I guess he spoke with a pretty thick accent. When I asked Joanne to repeat the specials, Maureen answered instead. "Oh forget about it, Pookie. They're not important. I'll order for you." She did, forgetting my shrimp allergy, so I had to make do with soup and tastes of Joanne's rice and veggies. Toward the end of the meal, Joanne went to make a phone call, and Collins left to "use the facilities" which I think meant he wanted to smoke a joint in the men's room. This left me alone with Maureen.

The waiter came by the table again. He must have asked if we wanted desert or something, because the next thing I knew, there was a huge slice of cheesecake in front of me. I don't love cheesecake, but I was hungry from not being able to eat my dinner. However, instead of ordering for the others, she instructed the waiter to come back when the others returned. I was gettinging a bit tired of Maureen treating me like a child, but I held my tongue. Unlike her, I do not like to make a spectacle of myself, and I figured yelling at her in the restaurant would be an open invitation to being humiliated. The others came back and we all ate desert, which was a real treat for me, since I haven't had a lot of extra money since quitting Buzzline.

We left the restaurant and started walking. Joanne needed to go to her office to pick something up, so we headed uptown. I love looking at the skyscrapers and the hustle and bustle of the city. It's so visually stunning, it gives me the impression of noise, even if I can't hear it any more. Sometimes my brain plays tricks on me like that. I feel overwhelmed by a sense of sound, even though I can't hear anything. It also happens when I'm in a room of signers. Joanne decided she wanted to talk to me, leaving Collins and Maureen chasing each other along the sidewalks.

**Mark, are you Ok?** Joanne signed. **You look like you're a million miles away.**

**Yeah.** I replied. **I'm just enjoying the city beat. **

**I'm sorry about Maureen. She's really acting like a jerk today, **she signed.

**Maureen's just doing what she does. She tries to take care of me. **

**But Mark, you don't need to be taken care of. She needs to know that...**

**I'll tell her to back off, when we get back home. I don't want to cause a scene.**

**I'll tak to her as well. Sometimes she needs reminders that other people can do things for themselves.**

**She does have the tendancy to go overboard. Mark, how did you lose your hearing? You never said. Were you sick?**

**No. I got hurt. Head trauma.**

**It happens.**

**From when Roger punched me in the head during withdrawal.**

**WHAT? Well, I suppose he wasn't in control of himself at the time. I take it he doesn't know.**

**No fuckin' way.**

**Here's my office. I'll just slip upstairs to get my package. **

The errand didn't take long at all and we were back at the loft in no time at all. Joanne took the package she had picked up and motioned to me to come and sit on the couch. This time shesinged and spoke at the same tim.

"**Mark, I know you don't like to take things from others, but I insist on giving you something."**

She passed a square package over to me . I opened the box and took out what appeared to be an electronic typwriter without a place to put the paper in.

"**Thanks Joanne," **I said. "**But what is it?"**

"**It's a machine that sends text over the phone lines, called a TTY, or Teletypwriter. I have one to talk to my cousin, so You can call me and Maureen if you need too. Also, every police station, ambulance dispatch and fire department have one, too. I'd feel better if I knew you could call for help without having to wait for someone to use the phone."**

Collins looked impressed. "I was worried about that, too, man."

"**Thanks a lot, Joanne." **I then proceeded to ask some questions about how to use it, and what to do if there wasn't another TTY on the other end. Joanne explained the finer parts of relay services to me.

"Does this mean I'm going to have to talk to my parents now?

"Not if you can avoid it."

Maureen then started tidying up the loft.

"Maureen, what the hell are you doing?"

"Cleaning up after you and Collins?"

"I can do that."

"No you can't"

"Why not, Maureen?"

"You need me to do things for you. I'm just trying to help you out."

"Maureen, just because I'm deaf, it doesn't mean I'm an invalid. I don't need you to cut my meat for me or clean up after me, or speak for me. I'm still and adult, even if I can't hear."

Maureen gave me an apologetic look, but that was quickly replaced by a look of surprise. She motioned for me to turn around.

Roger was standing behind me. He had come home early.

_A/N 2: Teletypewriters, or TTYs are devices that are used by deaf, hard-of-hearing, and speech impaired people to communicate by phone. Basically, the machine converts typed conversations into electronic beeps that are recieved by another TTY at the other end and reinterpreted as text. A relay service allows hearing people to call a number where an operator will type what is said and read back the response. TTY users can also call the relay service if the person they are calling does not have a TTY. They are still in use today, but instant messaging, text messaging, the Internet and the Blackberry seem to be more popular now._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: The characters and settings of the following story do not belong to me. They are the intellectual property of Jonathan Larson. **

_A/N: Many apologies to everyone for not getting this out in a timely manner. Real Life commitments plus job obligations plus a minor case of writer's block made this chapter take a long time. Many thanks to my beta Mel for helping me improve this chapter._

* * *

I wasn't sure what I could say to Roger. How do you tell someone that you're close to that you've been hiding something of this magnitude for eighteen months? Ever since the curtain of silence descended, I've been trying to find the words, but they still elude me. Silence was easier than the truth. I still didn't know what to do even though Roger found out my secret. To my shock, his first reaction was to laugh.

"Mark, I've told you a hundred times not to stand so close to the speakers at clubs. Relax, stay in a quiet room and your hearing should come back in a day or so."

"It's not like that Roger..." I mumbled. He didn't seem to have heard me.

"Of course, the ringing in your ears is a bitch afterwards but that goes away as long as you don't take aspirin. Wait…when did you go clubbing? We were at the Life last night. Hey Collins, when did you find a twenty-four hour club?"

Collins just shook his head.

"Well if you went out before the funeral, you really should have that checked out. Usually it takes me about two days to get over a gig. It did take longer that one time we got to use the big speakers at CBGB's."

"Roger, I'm serious. My hearing isn't going to come back." I had accepted this as fact for a while, but it was still awkward to say it. Maybe that's why Roger didn't quite believe me.

"Good one Mark, but April Fools' day is about three and half months away." He tried giving me a grin to ease the tension and to confirm that I was joking. He looked around and saw the serious looks on all of our faces.

"I'm not joking Roger."

It was probably Collins' grave look that made him realize it was true. Maureen can smile through a nuclear winter. Joanne is usually businesslike, but Collins is pretty easy-going. Unless the situation called solemnity he usually had a huge grin on his face. Roger's face blanched. "You're DEAF?" he cried. "Can't you hear anything?"

"No."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

A million responses flowed through my head. _Because I didn't want you to blame yourself. Because I wanted to protect you from the truth. Because I couldn't stand the thought of you thinking I wasn't good enough for you anymore. _I couldn't bring myself to say these reasons, so I just replied, "At the time, you had other things to worry about."

"At the time? How long have you been hiding this from me Mark?" I mumbled out a response, but it wasn't clear enough. "How long?"

"About eighteen months."

"A year and a half?! A fucking year and a half! You lost one of your senses and didn't bother telling me for that long?"

"Roger, it's not like I can just make breakfast and say 'Here's your eggs, and oh, by the way, I've lost my hearing'."

"Like telling you I had AIDS was any easier."

" That was different."

"No it wasn't. AIDS changes your life, just like being deaf, Mark. I was honest about my HIV with you. Why couldn't you be straight with me about your hearing?"

"I...I couldn't...I didn't know what to say or how to tell you. When we found April, I knew we had to prepare for the worst. You told me you were getting tested. I never told you I was getting a hearing test."

"No, but you could have."

"Not at the time, Roger. You were busy."

"What was I doing that had me so busy eighteen months ago?" All of a sudden, his eyes widened with realization. "My withdrawal. Something happened to you while I was getting clean." He looked at each of the others in the room. "How could the rest of you keep this from me, too?"

"Chill, man!" said Collins. "We only found out today. Mark never told us." Joanne and Maureen said something, but since they weren't in my direct line of sight, I'm not sure what. Most likely, they were confirming what Collins said.

Roger turned back to me. "Why couldn't you trust me?" he spat out bitterly, then turned around and went to his room.

Collins came over and sat next to me on the couch. "He's playing Musetta's Waltz."

"He plays when he gets upset. I didn't mean for him to find out like that."

"You didn't want him to find out at all. At least it's out in the open now. You're going to have to tell him how it happened. He was pretty lucid while you were in the hospital. It's only a matter of time before he works it out himself."

"I know. I just don't know how to tell him. It was different telling you guys."

"How? You blurted it out to us the same as you did to Roger," said Joanne.

"You're not so personally involved. Sure, I blurted it out to you and it was a surprise, but I don't live with you and Maureen. Hey, Maureen, stop cleaning! I still have the use of my hands and feet."

Maureen had moved in the kitchen and had located the old broom we kept in the corner and was sweeping nonexistent crumbs off the floor. I also noticed she had found the bucket and the bottle of industrial strength cleanser I had stolen from the hospital one day when visiting Angel.

"I was just trying to help," she protested.

"I know that, but you've got to stop doing everything for me. I'm an adult. I may have a disability but I'm learning to work around it. I don't want you treating me like I'm five years old and about to break."

"I didn't do that!"

Joanne rushed to my defense. "Yes you did. At the Laundromat and at the restaurant you took over for Mark. Didn't you notice he didn't eat his stir fry? You ordered for him without asking what he wanted."

"I'm allergic to shrimp. I couldn't eat anything on the plate." I said softly.

"Maureen, you have a heart of gold and I love that about you, but you can't take over people's lives like that. You'll cause more problems than you solve." Joanne cautioned

"And you may get hit," said Collins. "You try cutting my meat for me, I'll deck you!"

We all laughed at that, even Maureen. She turned to me looking sheepish. "Mark, I'm sorry. You know how I get when people I love get sick or hurt. I guess I went overboard."

"I know you don't mean any harm, Mo, but remember: there's a difference between helping because I've asked you and taking over. Remember, I'm still the same Mark, even if I can't hear."

"Ok, Markie. I'll back off. Unless you're in some kind of trouble because you can't hear what's going on, then I reserve the right to put on a catsuit and cape and come to your rescue." Maureen laughed.

"You'd put on the catsuit anyway," muttered Joanne. I guess it was under her breath since Maureen didn't react to it

The four of us sat in the living area of the loft for a while, just catching up and making plans for the next week. Joanne told us about a pending case. Maureen practiced for some auditions that were coming up. Collins speculated about the upcoming semester at NYU. He had behaved himself enough that the school had asked him to teach two more classes. If all worked out well, (i.e. if Collins didn't get bored and do something illegal or damaging to university property) he had a chance at a full professorship for the following year. I planned to finish getting the raw footage for a documentary I was working on.

After a while, the conversation turned back to my deafness.

"Mark, where can I learn sign language?" asked Maureen.

"I take a class at the school for the deaf. They have a beginner's group starting in a few days." I told her. "Unless Joanne could teach you?"

Joanne shook her head. "No way! She'll bully me into only learning words that aren't appropriate in polite company."

"That's for sure," said Collins.

"What's it like?" asked Maureen. I must have looked confused, because she immediately added, "Being deaf, I mean. What's it like?"

"It was kind of strange at first. I had no idea what was going on around me. For a while, I shouted obscenities trying to make myself hear. I think a couple of interns may have wanted to put me on the psych ward."

"And rightly so!" laughed Collins.

"Another thought I had Tourette's. It was hard to get used to, but it's not so bad anymore. Now it's like the silence is normal. Sometimes it's very peaceful, like when I go down to the harbor and don't hear the noise from the cranes and the boat engines. Other times it's unnerving. I was in a subway that got stuck for three hours and I didn't know what was happening because I couldn't hear the announcements over the loudspeakers. Dark alleys give me the creeps, too since I can't hear people approaching."

"That would be scary," said Maureen.

"I get frustrated in crowds when everyone talks at once. I don't like it when I'm not aware that people are speaking to me, so they think I'm either ignoring them or that I'm stupid. At least my camera captures a lot for later. Does that answer your question?"

Maureen nodded, and then sat back. "Thanks. Hey, Roger's stopped playing."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Roger joined me and Collins on the couch. "Mark, we've got to talk."

"I know."

The others exchanged glances and then excused themselves. They quickly left the loft, leaving me to face Roger's questions on my own. He took a deep breath.

"Mark, I've been doing some thinking in my room and I'm going to need you to be honest with me. Will you promise to tell me the truth?"

I gave him the smallest nod I could manage. Complete honesty would be difficult, especially if he asked about his withdrawal.

"Thanks. You know I was pretty messed up during withdrawal. I remember bits and pieces, but I mix up the order that things happened."

"Right. You told me that before."

"Sometimes playing helps me remember things. While I was in my room just now I was thinking about how you took care of me and kept me away from the drugs. I also remember that you weren't there for a while and Collins stayed with me. Was that when you went deaf?"

"Yeah, I was in the hospital for three weeks."

"Why were you there so long?"

"They had to treat me plus I had some rehab to learn how to get along without my hearing. Learning speech reading and stuff like that."

"Were you sick? I remember this kid in my kindergarten class got transferred to a school for the deaf after she got meningitis."

"No, I had a head injury." I didn't volunteer any further information. Unfortunately, Roger figured it out. His eyes went wide.

"Oh, God! I remember hitting you a few times in the head…I did this to you didn't I?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

"Tell me! Mark, you promised you'd be honest with me. I'm the reason you're deaf, aren't I?"

"You didn't mean to," I whispered. "I know it was the drugs. It's not your fault."

"Like hell it's not my fault! I bashed your head in. I put you in the hospital. I couldn't control myself and I hit you and made you deaf. Oh, God! I made you deaf! How can you ever forgive me?" With that, he turned and ran back into his room, slamming the door so hard I could feel the vibrations through the floor.

* * *

_A/N The next update will definately not take so long. I just need to go over chapter 6 before sending it to my beta, and chapter 7 has been started. I intend to finish this fic before the deadline. Oh, a point of clarification on the aspirin thing. Aspirin is otoxic (damaging to ears, specifically the hair cells in the cochlea) and in large doses has been known to cause deafness. Even in smaller doses, it still can exacerbate ringing in the ears. _

_Public Service Announcement: Prolonged or repetative exposure to loud noises causes irreversable damage to hearing. Any sound louder than 90 dB is damaging, and the louder the sound, the more damage is done. This includes music. Protect your hearing by using earplugs in noisy environments and reduce the volume on personal listening devices. Your ears will thank you for it. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Much as I would love to, I do not own RENT.**

_A/N Many thanks to my beta, Mel. _

* * *

Roger stayed in his room while I waited for Collins to come back. I was concerned about him. I hoped he wouldn't do anything too drastic. In the past he ran away, either through drugs or physically putting distance between himself and his problems. He was still trying to deal with Mimi's death, and the news of my deafness and his role in it was a lot for him to handle. 

Collins returned after two hours, carrying several bags of groceries and one brown paper sack containing Stoli. I took one of the bags from him and started putting the dairy products into the ancient fridge that hadn't seen much use. Once the bags were empty, Collins got out the paper cups and poured us each a drink.

"Where did you get the money for this?" I asked.

"Consider it a gift from Angel. I figured she would've wanted us to eat right to keep up our strength."

"Won't the bank notice?"

He shook his head. "As long as we don't go nuts, I doubt they will for a while. They can explain it away by thinking some of the bills stuck together, or something like that. I haven't used it since Christmas Eve. I figure they won't miss a few bills. Especially if I wire other machines to spread it out a bit. So, how did your talk with Roger go?"

"You were right. He remembered events from his withdrawal, and was able to piece things together. Once he realized what he did, he ran from the room and slammed his door. Could you check on him? I don't think he wants to see me right now…"

"I don't need to. He's playing Musetta's Waltz. Man, I wish he'd play another song. He played it constantly when you were in the hospital. At night, I heard it in my dreams." He shook his head at the memory.

I frowned at that. "I don't really dream with sound anymore." I could feel my voice waiver. "I forget what Maureen sounds like, and my memory of your voice and Roger's are fading pretty fast. I wonder if eventually, I'll forget what hearing is like."

"I hope that doesn't happen to you. When you read my lips, do you think the words or imagine my voice or what?"

"My brain fills in your words. I don't exactly imagine your voice, but I think the words. Why?"

"The new semester starts tomorrow. I'm thinking of starting off with a discussion on language and thought and how perception of the world shapes them both."

"So you spent the last two hours planning lessons?" I teased. "Collins! What are you thinking? You may even be prepared for class tomorrow!"

"The horror! Actually having lecture notes for a class!" He rolled his eyes. "The department head will have a coronary. But seriously, I found some articles at the library that discuss connection between language and thought. One talks about how your mother tongue structures your brain to organize its thoughts and another one talks about the thought processes of people who were isolated from language for a large chunk of their lives."

"Sounds interesting."

"There's some pretty drastic consequences if you don't have access to language. Some of the papers had some sad stories of kids being locked away or raised by dogs and they weren't able to catch up again."

"Makes you wonder how some deaf kids manage, especially if the parents don't figure it out until the kid reaches school. It's rare but it happens."

We continued to discuss the connection between language and thought until it was time to go to bed. Roger didn't leave his room, but Collins assured me the next day that he had played into the night.

Over the next few days, I only saw Roger momentarily when he went to the bathroom or grabbed a glass of water to take his AZT. He didn't look at me and avoided speaking to me. It kind of reminded me of the early days of Roger's withdrawal. He didn't leave the apartment. He only came out for glasses of water and to use the bathroom. I doubt that he was eating since it didn't look like anything was moved in the fridge.

Collins had found a renewed passion for teaching. His language debate during his class was a hit, especially since two deaf students had registered, which brought an interesting perspective to the discussion. Inspired, Collins assigned the first paper he actually looked forward to grading: an exploratory introspective about the way each student thought. Because of the interpreter in the class, Collins started picking up signs here and there and was able to have a passable conversation about abstract thought, provided he was allowed to fingerspell the words he didn't know. Mind you, Collins has always been somewhat of a linguist. He picked up street Greek when being held for that incident at the Parthenon and knows somewhat graphic pickup lines in ten different languages.

He supported me with his friendship. He understood what I was feeling for Roger and encouraged me to just open up with him. This was easier said than done. Roger avoided me like the plague. Because of the guilt and anger he felt, Roger wasn't comfortable with me. Collins said he needed to learn to forgive himself.

Maureen still tried to help me, but didn't go so far as to order for me at the Life or take over completely. She had found the beginners' signing class, so she was also able to sign the alphabet, introductions and several choice phrases. When we were out, she was my unofficial interpreter, even though I could speechread better than most As I had predicted to the members of Life Support, she started to organize a protest about access to interpreters in public places. And yes, it did involve cow suits. She was a woman possessed, spending hours at a time organizing lighting, sound equipment and a group of interpreting students from the local community college. I was amazed by the amount she could accomplish in only a week.

I was especially thankful for Joanne. She accepted my deafness and didn't want to constantly talk about it. I felt normal around her. She'd call me over the TTY and ask me to join her and Maureen for a beer. Communication wasn't an issue between the two of us. Her signing was fluent, not the halting attempts of my other friends, although they were trying. She would joke around with me. Nothing about our friendship had changed with my revelation, except the language of our interaction.

I attended a couple more life support meetings. In between hearing about Gordon's T-Cell count and Susan's children, I shared about my friends' reactions to my deafness. I even made sure to invite the group to Maureen's protest. I told them about Maureen's newfound passion for deaf rights, Collin's emotional support and the way that Joanne kept my life somewhat normal. I didn't tell them about Roger's reaction because I didn't want to have to explain why Roger was feeling so guilty. Luckily, no one pressed me for information about him.

After one of the meetings, Collins and I arrived home to find the loft absolutely freezing. Benny had turned off the heat again. That bastard. I volunteered to cook because Collins had a class that evening. He was going to try something a bit different. The topic was modern views on homosexuality, so he decided to have the students immerse themselves in the culture for the evening. He was holding class at a gay bar near campus. I hoped they were all old enough to attend class.

"You'll be alright while I'm gone?" asked Collins as he was walking out the door.

"I should be fine. Maureen called me just now. She'll probably come by after she's done rehearsing that new protest. Joanne's working on a brief, but she'll be at the apartment all evening. Enjoy your class, and try not to get too drunk."

"You mean try to keep my hands to myself at the club," he grinned.

"I mean don't do anything that will get you fired."

"I won't. I finally found a class that likes to learn, even if they can't write worth a damn. I'll see you later."

After Collins left the loft, I got my editing equipment out and started to splice together scenes to create a memorial film for Mimi. I really got into it, selecting each frame carefully to show the world the Mimi I remembered. I had footage of her laughing at the Life with us, some from the summer just lounging around the loft, and I even had a few minutes of her at the Cat Scratch from the time when I was considering doing a film about the lives of the girls who work in strip clubs. I was absorbed in my work and didn't realize how much time had passed.

Suddenly, a hand reached out and touched my shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Maureen was in front of me.

"Sorry for scaring you," she said.

"That's alright. How was rehearsal?"

"It was fine. It should be good, but the interpreters don't want to wear cow suits for some reason."

"Do these suits have masks and gloves?"

"Come to think of it, they do. Oh... no wonder they won't wear them. You can't sign properly with fuzzy plush hooves on your hands. Anyway, how's the new film coming along?"

"It's going slowly, but its turning out well. I think I'll be able to start some of the sound work in a few weeks."

"Do you have anyone in mind to help you?"

"I've already talked to the guy who helped me with the mixing for Today 4 U. He told me last week he could use some opinions to help shorten his latest piece."

"Sounds like a good plan. You know, it's pretty quiet here. I don't hear Roger playing the guitar. Did he leave?"

"I don't think so, but I haven't seen him all evening."

"But you were absorbed in your editing. You wouldn't notice if aliens landed on the fire escape if it happened when you were working on your films."

"I'm not that bad!" I protested.

"Are too! Anyway, that's beside the point. You're sure you haven't seen Roger?"

I shook my head. "I haven't really seen much of him over the last couple of days. Only when he came to the kitchen to get a glass of water for his AZT." A thought popped into my head. When was Roger's next dose? I looked down at my watch. "He should have taken it an hour ago." I hollered out "Roger, take your AZT." He didn't come out of his room.

"I'll see where he is."

Maureen walked over to Roger's room and knocked on the door. "Roger? Are you in there? Roger?" She pressed her ear to the door. "I hear someone moving in there, but he's not answering. Roger? I'm coming in." She opened the door, entered the room and immediately ran out.

"Mark, call 911. There's something wrong with Roger."

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own RENT, but it does make a lovely Christmas gift.**

_Author's Notes: Due to the deadline for Challenge Central coming up quickly, I've decided to post this chapter (and future chapters) unbeta'ed for the time being. After the Challenge is over and judging has been completed, I'll post beta'ed versions._

_Please note the following font indicators:_

_ALL CAPS ITALICS: TTY CONVERSATION -chosen because it somewhat resembles the output screen of a TTY_

_Italicized writing – written words_

**bold –** _sign language only_

"**bold in quotes" **_- singing and speaking at the same time._

_In some cases there are instances where someone translates for Mark, but as the speaker is using English, the font is normal to indicate this._

* * *

Instead of running for the TTY immediately, I went to Roger's room. He was lying on the floor, his arms and legs twitching grotesquely. His head was banging against the floor. Maureen moved behind Roger and held his head to prevent him from hurting himself. She looked over at me in anger. "What are you waiting for? Call 911!"

"The operator is going to need to know what's wrong. I can't hear you from the other room. What do I tell them?"

Maureen's eyes searched the room, looking for a clue as to what happened. After a moment, she found one. I followed her gaze and saw two empty prescription bottles on the night stand: AZT. Roger had evidently tried to end his life by overdosing on the medication that was supposed to save it.

I put the phone receiver into the TTY cradle and dialed 911. Immediately, letters appeared across the display. Thank God Joanne had given it to me.

_911, WHAT IS UR EMERGENCY QQ GA_ In my panic, I had almost forgotten the shorthand. GA meant Go Ahead, meaning it was my tiurn to talk. QQ was a question mark.

_MY FRIEND IS HAVING A SEIZURE. HE'S THRASHING AND HITTING HIS HEAD ON THE FLOOR. NOT WAKING UP AND NOT STOPPING. GA_

_HOW LONG WAS THE SEIZURE QQ GA _

_MORE THAN 5 MINUTES, BUT NOT SURE CUZ WE JUST OPENED THE DOOR GA_

_WE'LL SEND AN AMBULANCE. UR NAME, ADDRESS, FRIENDS NAME QQ GA _

_I'M MARK COHEN. MY FRIEND'S NAME IS ROGER DAVIS, WE'RE IN THE TOP FLOOR LOFT OF THE OLD MUSIC PUBLISHING BUILDING ON AVENUEB AND 11TH. GA _

_GOT THAT. AMBULANCE SHOULD BE THERE WITHIN 3 MINUTES. DON'T PUT ANYTHING IN R'S MOUTH, KEEP HIM FROM BANGING HIS HEAD, IF HE STOPS SEIZING, LAY HIM ON HIS SIDE. GOT THAT QQ GA_

_YES. GA_

_ARE YOU ABLE TO HEAR A KNOCK AT THE DOOR QQ GA _

_NO, I'M DEAF GA _Oh God! I hadn't thought of that! Luckily the operator had a suggestion.

_OPEN YOUR APARTMENT DOOR SO THE PARAMEDICS CAN GET IN, THEN CHECK ON ROGER. THEN RETURN. GA_

I did as the operator instructed and opened the door to the loft. Ever since Mimi's near death experience on Christmas Eve, Benny had allowed us to leave the main entrance unlocked in case of emergencies. When I checked on Roger, he was still thrashing his arms and legs, but Maureen had a good grip on his head.

"The ambulance is on it's way. Don't put anything in his mouth and turn him on his side if the seizure stops. I need to get back to the phone." She nodded and I went back to the TTY.

_THE DOOR IS OPEN. ANOTHER FRIEND IS WITH ROGER. GA_

_IS HE STILL SEIZING QQ GA_

_YES GA_

_DO YOU KNOW WHY HE'S HAVING A SEIZURE QQ IS HE EPILEPTIC QQ GA_

_NOT EPILEPTIC. I THINK HE TOOK PILLS. GA_

_WHAT HE TOOK AND HOW MUCH QQ GA_

_AZT. HE'S HIV +. THERE WERE 2 EMPTY BOTTLES. I KNOW HE HAD 1 FULL ONE, OTHER BOTTLE PROBABLY HALF FULL. GA_

_NOTED ON FILE. IS THE AMBULANCE THERE YET QQ GA_

_I SEE LIGHTS OUTSIDE. GA_

_WAIT UNTIL THEY ENTER BEFORE HANGING UP. GA _

Just then two paramedics entered the loft. I gestured them over to Roger's room.

P_ARAMEDICS ARE HERE. GA_

_YOU MAY HANG UP NOW. GA SK_

_SKSK _

I confirmed the end of my call and hung up the phone. By the time I followed the paramedics into Roger's room, he had finally stopped seizing. Maureen gathered the empty pill bottles and handed them to me. "Someone should go with him," she decided.

"I'll meet you at the hospital, then," I said, thinking she would be the one to go.

"No, I think you'd better ride in the ambulance. It's easier for me to contact the others and you know his medical history."

Maureen told the paramedics that I was going with them, so I followed the stretcher that they had placed Roger on. I hopped in the back doing my best to stay out of the way. I couldn't read the lips of the paramedics in the poor light, so I didn't really know what was going on. At least Roger had stopped thrashing and I could see the rise and fall of his chest. "Roger, how could you do this to yourself?" I muttered under my breath.

The ride to the hospital was mercifully short. We ran into the ER and everyone started talking at once. I really couldn't follow the conversation and didn't realize that one of the doctors was asking me a question until she touched my shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I didn't get that. Could you repeat the question?" I said.

The doctor said something but turned away.

"Sorry, still didn't catch it. You've got to look at me when you speak. I'm deaf." I pointed to my ear to emphasize the point. She tried again, looking directly at me. Even though she made effort to speak slowly, I still only got a couple of words. It was frustrating. Why couldn't I read her lips? "I'm sorry. I just can't make out what you're saying. Do you sign by any chance?"

She shook her head then indicated for me to wait. She went over to the admitting desk and came back with a pen, notepad and sheaf of papers attached to a clipboard. Taking the pen she wrote, _Are you the person who called 911?_ I nodded. She continued her thoughts on the paper. _The file says he overdosed on AZT. Do you know how much he took?_

In the past 18 months, I have found that I feel the most comfortable responding using the same method of communication as the person I'm talking with. If they sign, I prefer to sign. If they speak, I speak. I was just about to pick up the pen and write back , but I realized how ridiculous that would be. There was nothing wrong with my voice. I took out the pill bottles Maureen had given me. "This one was full this morning. I just picked it up from the pharmacy yesterday. This other one was about half full. It belonged to Roger's girlfriend who died recently."

_Did he take anything else?_

I shook my head. "I doubt it. We have a bottle of aspirin, but I took the last one this morning. After Roger's withdrawal, we got out of the habit of keeping anything else in the loft, and he hasn't been out in a week." She marked it down on the chart.

_Withdrawal? What was he addicted to and how did he detox?_

"Heroin Me and my friends kept him in our apartment until the drugs were out of his system and he wasn't feeling the withdrawal symptoms."

S_o he's never been on Methadone or Buprenorphine? _Luckily I recognized the names from the paper. They were withdrawal medications.

"He didn't take anything like that. I stayed with him, or my friend did. He didn't go to a center, either."

_When did he last take drugs? Some of them stay in the body for a long time._

"About 18 months ago."

_Any allergies or other health problems?_

"He's allergic to Sulfa drugs and had mild asthma when he was a teenager. He's also been under a lot of stress lately and has been feeling very guilty." I didn't offer anything else, especially the reason for his guilt.

_Has he been eating and sleeping? _

"I'm not sure. I haven't seen him eat anything this past week and I can't hear if he's up when he's in his room."

_Did he have any alcohol today?_

"We didn't have any in the loft."

_Thanks for the information. Fill out these forms and I'll get back to you when we know anything._

"OK. Thanks Doctor." She handed me a clipboard and a pen. I spent the next twenty minutes filling out forms and trying to remember the name of Roger's doctor at the free clinic. The forms kept my mind occupied. I was checking the last box when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Joanne. Maureen was next to her.

"Did they tell you anything?" asked Maureen.

"No. They asked me some questions, but I still haven't heard what's going on with him. He was breathing on his own when they took him into the back, though," I said.

"**That's a good sign" **said Joanne, while signing.

"**Did you get hold of Collins?"** I asked, also signing.

Maureen shook her head. "No. I tried that club he was talking about and also left messages for him at home and at the university. Plus I left a note on the table."

I returned the paperwork to the desk and Joanne tried to find out what was happening. She wasn't having much luck. We couldn't find anyone who knew anything about Roger's condition. They just would state they'd try to find out and then they'd forget about us. Once, a nurse came out, only to tell us they were still working on him.

Joanne had come prepared and passed out paperback books. Although mine was well-written, I just couldn't concentrate on the story. I was too worried about Roger.

After an hour and a half of fidgeting, I grew tired of trying to read. Luckily, Collins arrived, but I could tell that he was having a hard time. He couldn't keep still and looked very uncomfortable, like he wanted to escape the waiting room as soon as he possibly could.

"Collins, you OK, man?" I asked. "You look like you're freaking out."

"Sorry. I just don't like hospitals. Too much has happened here in the past months. They bring back bad memories."

"Are you going to be alright? " I asked.

"I could use a joint right about now." He tried to keep his expression light, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that he wasn't really joking.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Angel. Most of the time, I remember her when she was feeling good and how much she cared about the world. But when I come here, something makes me think about the end and how much pain she was in. It scares me. I don't ever want to see anyone else suffer like that again. And then I realize that it's going to happen to me someday. I'll be in pain, barely clinging to life, fading away in the hospital. I can't stop thinking about it when I'm here."

"Like you're confronted with your mortality?" I asked.

" Yeah. It's almost like I'm being haunted , like in a Christmas Carol. The ghost of Christmas past and the Ghost of Christmas yet to come."

"Maybe you should focus more on the present. After all, 'No Day But Today'" I reminded him.

"I'll try, but it's hard being here. Especially since we're alone with our thoughts and we're all worried about Roger. I don't want him to leave before his time."

"I just wish we knew something." I said.

It was at that moment when two people dressed in white coats approached us. One was the woman who attempted to speak to me earlier. The other was a bespectacled man with graying hair and a wizened look in his face. The woman said something to us that I didn't understand.

Joanne looked at my puzzled expression and realized what was happening. **She has a very thick accent, German is my guess. Do you need me to sign? **I loved the fact that Joanne always asked before helping me. I nodded. **She wants us to follow her to a more private area. **I panicked inside. I had a flashback to when my grandfather had collapsed at the dinner table when I was fourteen. He'd had a heart attack and didn't survive. The doctors told us about his passing by escorting us to a small one like this one. I could tell the others were thinking it was bad news as well.

With a glance between the four of us, Collins became our spokesperson. "Doctor, is Roger alright? Is he still alive?"

The doctor looked surprised to hear the second question. Then she realized the mental trauma she had inadvertently caused. "Oh! You must have thought... the room... oh dear. I do apologize. I did not mean to make you worry. Mr. Davis is conscious. We gave him charcoal and pumped the excess medication from his stomach. Physically, he should be fine in a day or two." I was flooded with relief. Roger was alive! "AZT is not fatal in high doses, but in some cases, it does cause seizures. He'll have to be monitored for a few days."

Collins nodded, then looked puzzled. "You said he was alright physically. How's he doing mentally?"

The gray-haired doctor spoke up. "Yes, that's more my area of expertise. I'm Doctor Sheffield. I'm the psychiatrist on call for tonight. Mr. Davis's mental condition is more complicated. He is very distressed, and in order to treat him effectively, we had to put him in restraints. I've given him a mild sedative, but I'm concerned that he's still a danger to himself."

"Can we see him?" I asked.

"Yes, but only one at a time, and with supervision. He's still very unpredictable. He may not be himself, which is why we wanted to prepare you beforehand. Oh which of you rode in with the patient?" I raised my hand. "Dr. Zeigler informed me that you're deaf. The medication that we gave Mr. Davis causes slurred speech and lack of coordination. Reading his lips may be difficult. If you don't mind waiting for a few minutes, I'll arrange for a nurse who can sign to escort you."

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

Just as Maureen prepared to leave to see Roger, another doctor slipped in and asked for Doctor Zeigler. She excused herself and left. I decided to speak to Dr. Sheffield. Although Joanne had signed for me during his introduction, I found I could understand him pretty well. I signed to her to stay put and went over to the psychiatrist. "Excuse me, Doctor, could I talk to you for a moment about Roger?"

"Of course." He indicated two chairs in the corner and we made our way over to them.

"I don't know what the protocol for this is or anything, but I think I should tell you about some of what Roger's gone through in the past few weeks. Wouldn't that help you treat him?"

"It may give us a place to start. What can you tell me, Mr...?"

"Cohen," I supplied. "Mark Cohen. Please call me Mark. Mr. Cohen is my father."

"Alright, Mark. Do you mind if I take notes."

"Go ahead, First of all, in the last three months, two of our close friends have died from AIDS. One of those was his girlfriend. It's been stressful for him."

"Losing a loved one is very stressful."

"I know. Roger doesn't like to deal with pain. He escapes. Before, he used to get high, but since he got clean, he'll try to get away physically. Mimi's only been gone a little while, so I know he hurts from that. And he found out my secret, so that made him worse."

"What do you mean about your secret, Mark?" asked the Doctor.

"I haven't exactly been forthcoming with the fact that I'm deaf. Roger only found out about it last week, and I've been hiding it for over a year and a half."

"Why did you wait to tell him? There's more to it than just the fact you're deaf, isn't there?"

"Yeah. Roger is directly involved. One night, he was having really bad withdrawal symptoms and he got violent. He hit me in the head, and I ended up deaf. He was lucid enough to remember hitting me and that I was away from our loft for a while and he put the pieces together."

"I see. That does explain a few things." I went on to tell the doctor about how Roger had been acting the last week. "Thank you for telling me this, Mark. I'm going to recommend therapy for him, and this will give us a place to start."

"Will you continue to treat him?"

"I'll give Roger that option, but he may be more comfortable with one of my colleagues." He scratched his chin. "How have you been in all this?"

"What do you mean, Doctor?" I was surprised at the question.

"You've had a lot of trauma yourself, Mark. You lost your hearing, lost friends to a terrible illness, and now are dealing with a friend's suicide attempt. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "Shouldn't you be worried about how Roger is feeling instead?"

"Mark, it's OK to let yourself feel. I take it you're the type to hold back and detach from their emotions. Am I right?" I was quiet for a long time, but finally nodded. "Sometimes, you just need a sympathetic ear to listen. Were you offered counseling when you lost your hearing?"

"They had someone talk to me a couple of times, but he thought I was adjusting well, so he didn't come back I go to Life Support. I talked to them about my problems last week."

"That's excellent, but sometimes it helps to have one on one attention. I know you're not my patient, but I strongly suggest that you talk to someone. I can write you a referral if needed."

My first instinct was to refuse, but I realized he had a point. "Yeah. Maybe that would be good."

He took out a pad of paper and wrote down an name and number. "I'll call Reg in the morning and tell him to expect your call. I think he'll be a good match for you, Mark."

Before I had a chance to reply, a nurse knocked at the door. When she entered the room, she addressed me, **"I think it's time for you to see your friend, now. You can discuss any other plans later. "**

It was time for me to face Roger.

_

* * *

A/N I did a little research on AZT and found out that it is not lethal in large quantities. Someone may take up to 50 grams (1 gram 3 large dose pills or 10 small dose pills). The notes I read did mention seizures as a possible side effect of a large dose._

_Please keep in mind that I'm not 100 sure about hospital procedure or rules for referring someone to a counselor. Any mistakes are my own._


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Rent belongs to Jonathan Larson, as I didn't receive the rights as a Christmas present.**

_A/N: This version is unbetaed, so it may be posted before the deadline for Challenge Central. Also, my character, Dr. Green is meant to be a little off-beat. Any mistakes are my own and are not meant to offend._

* * *

The nurse led me past the double doors to a room with metal shelves filled with bandages and plaster rolls. Since Roger was stable, they had wheeled him to the cast room to wait for a transfer to the wards. His hair was disheveled and sticking up all over the place. His eyes had a glazed look to them. He was drooling the slightest bit, and his wrists and ankles were in soft cuffs that attached to the bed. He really didn't look himself.

Roger was muttering something to himself. As the doctor had predicted, I wasn't really able to make out any words that passed his lips. It took a moment for my escort/translator to make sense of his muttering. **"He's repeating the words 'I'm sorry, Mark' over and over again."**

I went over the side of his bed and took his hand in mine. Eventually, he stopped mumbling, but didn't say anything else. A thousand questions formed on my lips, but I couldn't bring myself to ask them. Part of me was worried he couldn't answer in his drugged state. The other part of me was afraid that the answers would be too truthful. After several minutes of silence, I finally spoke. "Roger, get better, OK? I need you."

I cringed inward at my cowardice. I should have told him right then about my feelings for them. Admittedly, this was the closest I had come to telling Roger about the depth of my desires, but the words weren't adequate to describe the fact that I couldn't function if I didn't see him every morning. I wasn't comfortable in the loft without knowing that he was in the next room to take care of any intruders that I couldn't hear. The month he was in Santa Fe, I became a nervous wreck. Beyond physical safety, Roger completed me. I've always been analytical and measured. Roger taught me to let go once in a while. The realization that I could have lost him tonight me finally hit me and I started to sob.

Even though he wasn't totally lucid, Roger was aware that something was wrong. He tightened his grip on my hand and stroked the back of my hand with his thumb in the effort to comfort me. We stayed like that for several minutes. I focused my attention on Roger's face and didn't realize that other people had entered the room.

All of a sudden, commotion broke around us. Nurses and orderlies came, followed by Doctors Sheffield and Zeigler. They transferred him to a gurney, put his IV on a portable stand and prepared to take him away. I was shoved aside.

"What's going on?" I cried out in alarm. The nurse realized that I had missed the explanation.

**Roger is being transferred to the wards. He needs to be monitored for any side effects of the overdose, plus Doctor Sheffield wants to make certain he's not a danger to himself. **

**Can I go with him? **I asked.

**It's getting late. Visiting hours are over, and they're pretty strict about nighttime visitors on that ward. You can see him first thing in the morning. He'll be on Ward 7.**

Doctor Sheffield came up to me. "You'd best go home and get some sleep. It won't help Roger if you get admitted for exhaustion."

"Alright," I conceded grudgingly. I knew that if I got sick, Roger would blame himself even more. I went back to the little room and the rest of us headed back to the loft.

* * *

Collins and I returned to the hospital the next morning. Joanne had work and Maureen had a callback from an audition that she just couldn't miss. We used the main entrance to the hospital and asked for Ward 7 at the desk.

The young man sitting there appeared bored when he replied, "Take the elevator to the seventh floor and then sign in at the nursing station." He looked more interested in the number puzzle from the paper that he was completing. We followed a group of young people in short white coats to the elevator bank and rode with them to the seventh floor. It was only when we saw the large sign on the wall that we realized that Roger had been brought to the psychiatric ward.

We went to the large desk and marked our names on a chart. A nurse directed us to room 742. It struck me as we were searching the room numbers that all of the rooms were designed for single patients. Roger's room was at the end of a long hallway. He was sitting up in the bed. The restraints were gone but his wrists sported ugly purple bruises.

"Man, you look like shit!" said Collins. He was considerably calmer than he was last night. I was about to question him but then I caught a whiff of marijuana smoke.

"I feel like shit," was Roger's reply.

"You should. They had you tied up last night, and not in the good way. Seriously dude, what you did was not cool."

Roger looked away and mumbled something I didn't catch.

Collins looked at his watch. "Sure, Roger. I have to go anyway. It's almost time for my ten thirty class, and this group is especially uninspired. My upperclassmen have been known to teach themselves, but these freshmen are needy. Mark, I'm taking off. Meet you at the loft at five if not before then."

Roger said something else. The angle made it impossible for me to tell what. I take it he didn't want me to know.

"Talk to him, Roger. You may be surprised. Remember what I said before. I'm out of here. You crazy kids have a good time." I had no idea what he was talking about, but Collins left before I could ask.

I don't know how long I stood there looking lost before Roger started to look uncomfortable. He waved me out of my reverie and said, "Mark, you look like an idiot staring into space like that. At least use one of the chairs."

I moved awkwardly to the chair near the bedside. "Um, how are you feeling?" I said awkwardly.

"Like I said, I feel like shit. I've got this gritty taste in my mouth. My arms and legs hurt and I can't even go to the can without someone looking in on me. I want out of here but the doc is going to hold me prisoner here for at least a week."

"You need anything? Book? Guitar? Pen?"

"No." We sat in silence for a few more minutes. "They're sending me to a shrink. They think I'm messed up."

"The doctor at the hospital wanted me to see someone, too. I haven't called, but I think I might."

"Why?" He asked bitterly. " You're not the one so fucked up he tried to kill himself using AIDS meds. You didn't hit your best friend so hard he went deaf. You're not a danger to yourself and others." He practically spat the last words.

"Neither are you, Roger." I tried to soothe him, but he was distraught.

"Yes, I am!"he shouted. "Don't you see? I made you deaf! I'm dangerous. I hurt you. I just want the guilt to stop. I couldn't stand it if I hurt you again." He started crying so loud that a nurse came into the room.

"Sir, I think you should leave for a moment. We'll let you know when you can go back. There's a waiting area around the corner."

I took their advice and went to the waiting area. After a few minutes, Doctor Sheffield came and found me. "Hello, Mark."

"Hello, Doctor. Is Roger alright?"

"I managed to calm him down without sedative, but I think I need to talk to him for a while. He's not going to be available for the next couple of hours, so I wanted to let you know."

"I guess I'll just go home then."

"You could, but I have another idea. Did you call that number on the card I gave you last night?" I shook my head. "I didn't even think of it."

"Doctor Green is on duty today, but I know he's not very busy right now. I could introduce him to you and maybe he can help you kill some time. After you're done, Roger may be ready to see you." I wasn't sure about the idea of meeting a psychiatrist right away. It's one thing to consider calling him. It's quite another to actually go talk to one. Doctor Sheffield could tell I wasn't sure, so he encouraged me. "I promise Reg doesn't bite, and you won't have to go all the way home. It's cold out there."

He was right. It was one of those days where the wind was howling,making everything seem colder. I swear my nose hairs had stuck together on the walk over. "OK, I'll meet him."

"I think you two will get along well." Doctor Sheffield led me away from the patient rooms to a row of offices. He led me into the third one. A young man was sitting at the desk. "Reg, this is the guy I was telling you about. Mark Cohen, this is Doctor Reginald Green. Now if you don't mind, I've got to get back to my own patients. Mark, check in with the desk before coming to the room, alright?" I nodded and turned to Doctor Green. I realized then, that I missed what he had said while I was turned away.

"Could you repeat that? I missed what you said just then."

"I was just wondering who you were. Tom told me about six guys this morning. Two were old buddies from high school, one was scouting for the department basketball team, one was a patient of his, one was a potential patient and the last was, in his words, incredibly hot and desperate for a date."

I laughed. "Doctor Sheffield gave me your card in case I wanted someone to talk with, although the last one may be applicable."

"Ah, but I don't date patients. The board tends to frown on that. So if you're a new patient, why do you think you need to talk to a psychiatrist?"

"I've had a lot going on in my life."

"Like what?"

"Well, my best friend tried to commit suicide last night. In the last three months, two of my close friends died of AIDS. I haven't had a romantic relationship since my girlfriend dumped me for a lawyer named Joanne. I quit my job to finish my film, and now that it's done, I'm worried about having enough money for the rent and for food."

"So, what do you want to do about all of this?"

"Aren't you supposed to tell me to lie on a couch and talk about my mother?"

"Why bother? Everyone has mother issues. Unless your parents abused you or something. Then we'd need to talk about that. Were you abused by your mother or father?"

"No."

"Do you see a couch in here?"

"Uh-uh. So this about me taking action?"

"Yep. You catch on fast. Lots of people need a couple of years to figure that one out. What's your biggest problem right now?"

"Roger's suicide attempt."

"Did you cut him with a knife or force pills down his throat or hold a gun to his head?"

"No... he used pills, anyhow."

"Well unless you force fed them, it's not your problem. You can bring him to the hospital, you be there for him, but Roger is the one who'll have to move past that. Even if you think you caused it, Roger is the one who reacted. Not your problem."

"Are you sure you're a psychiatrist?"

"Let me see." He looked at his degree on the wall, then played with his waistband on his pants. "Yep. The name on the underwear matches the name on the diploma."

"You just don't act like any shrink I've ever known."

"I have a unique philosophy. The way I see it, there a two kinds of problems. Those that you can do something about and those you can't. The ones you can do something about are your own problems. The ones you can't are someone else's. You can react to them, and your reaction is something you can control, but the cause is someone else's problem."

"Alright."

"Of what you told me, the one that you can make a difference yourself is having enough money. Why did you quit your job?"

"I told you to work on my film."

"Couldn't you work on your film and work?"

"I hated my job. I felt like I was selling my soul."

"You see, that's getting somewhere. It's a question of conscience. When did you quit?"

"Beginning of December. I finished my film by Christmas and then the time since then has been pretty hectic."

"No excuses. I'm not interested in those either. I am interested in what steps you can take to help yourself. Where did you work before?"

"Buzzline."

"That show's so sleazy. I don't blame you for quitting. Where are other places you can work?"

"I could wait tables or tend bar."

"Or you can use your skills as a filmmaker, which I know you'd rather do. Tomorrow you are going to go to all the TV studios and small film companies and leave a resume. If you don't have one, I'll make one for you..." At that point, I couldn't understand him because he turned to the computer on his desk.

"I'm sorry..." I began to say I missed something, but he misunderstood.

"I know, I'm not everyone's cup of tea. I really think I can work with you Mark. You're not that far gone!"

"What?" I obviously had missed something important.

"There's hope. Don't give up just because you don't like one instruction!"

"Doctor Green, I don't understand. I was just going to tell you that I didn't get what you said when you turned to the computer. Didn't Doctor Sheffield tell you that I'm deaf?"

A look of shock crossed the Doctor's face. "No, he didn't. And you didn't mention it either. You read lips really well. When I turned away, I just asked if you were willing to work with me."

"Oh! Yeah, I think so."

"Good. Because counseling doesn't work unless the patient wants it. Now, Mark. Why didn't you tell me you were deaf?"

"Because I've dealt with it. I just accept it. I've already moved on with it. It's not a big deal."

"Ah, but it is a big deal. You need to realize that. It may affect your relationships or the way you earn your living. Communication is important to function in the world. I'll let you ponder that one while I help you with your curriculum vitae. I always thought that sounded better than an resume."

We spent an hour tweaking my list of odd jobs and pathetic stint at Brown to make me sound like I am a wealth of experience and film knowledge. He gave me a homework assignment: to distribute the stack of resumes that he had printed.

"Mark, I hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship... or at least a doctor/patient thingy."

"I'd like it to be. You've helped already, but ..."

"You're worried about payment, aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"We did spend the last hour talking about how broke you are. Anyhow, I need to do several hours a week of community service. If you don't mind me giving your name to my probation officer, I can take you on pro bono."

"Probation officer?"

"Drunk driving indictment. Luckily no one died, but it looked close. The judge didn't think I was punished enough. Come on, I'll escort you back to the nursing station. I need the exercise before my next patient."

I headed to the door, but when I turned back, I saw Doctor Green maneuvering a wheelchair from behind the desk.

"How long ..." I began.

"How long have I been taking meals on wheels? It will be fifteen months next week."

"I've been deaf for eighteen months."

"You can say I know something about what it's like to suddenly have a disability. I want to work with you Mark. You're coping alright, but I know I can help you. There's more to your deafness than you're telling me. I'm an excellent judge of body language after all."

"Alright. I'll try it for a while, Doctor Green."

"You've got to cut out this Doctor Green crap. I'm Reg. Let's see if you remember that at your next appointment. Let's say on Thursday, two-ish?"

I agreed to the time. Reg found his next patient at the desk, sitting in a hospital wheelchair. They raced back to the office.

Roger had finished his session with Dr. Sheffield, but didn't have much to say to me. He was calmer, but not ready to talk. We spent the rest of the day watching TV and avoiding serious conversation.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Rent does not belong to me. I'm only having fun with it. Also, the program mentioned below is Square One Television, a wonderful children's program that makes learning Math fun. I do not own it, either, but heartily encourage you to check it out. **

_A/N: unbetaed in order to post in time for challenge central deadline. All mistakes are my own._

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Over the next two weeks, my routine involved searching for a job, visiting Roger in the hospital and sessions with Reg. He helped me to realize that I've been using my deafness as a way of detaching, just like I used my camera in the past. He also helped me identify things I could do to solve my problems and recognize when they were actually someone else's.

Eventually, we started to discuss my love life and lack thereof. I'd been pretty open about my sexuality, and since Reg was gay, he knew the minds of men. He made me realize that I could do something about my crush on Roger. If Roger didn't return my feelings, that was his problem, not mine. Still, I was nervous about bringing it up with him.

Roger made progress at the hospital, but not enough to go home. He was seeing Doctor Sheffield every day. I usually visited after their sessions. Roger was always exhausted, but every day, he would talk to me more.

Fifteen days after Roger was admitted to the hospital, I had stopped in his room after my session with Reg. I had some good news. My resume blitz had finally paid out. I had found a job working at the Children's Television Workshop, filming segments for a educational program about Mathematics. The writing was clever and there were plenty of opportunities to express my creativity. They had other Deaf people working for them, so communication wasn't an issue. Several of the employees signed. They had a TTY in the main office, as well as closed caption machines on many of their TVs. I also had a great health plan.

Reg was ecstatic about my new job and took me to the cafeteria for a celebratory lunch. Unfortunately, he decided to change my homework for the next session. Now that one of my biggest concerns was in the past, he wanted me to talk to Roger. He even went as far as asking Doctor Sheffield if Roger was stable enough to hear my confession, once I gave him permission to disclose, of course.

At two o'clock, I entered room 742 and took a seat. He was happy to see me. "Hey, Mark."

"Hey, Roger. I've got some news. I got that job on the math show today."

"That's great. I'm happy for you."

"It's going to be nice. It pays enough to cover rent, food and leave a bit extra to do what we want with. I even have insurance now."

"That's good. I wish I had insurance. Benny came by, and told me he'd cover this stay. I accepted, of course, but the Doc wants me to keep coming to him every week. He put me on Prozac, too. That shit's expensive."

"When I signed my contract, they gave me a policy booklet to read. I didn't actually enroll in my plan yet, but something jumped out at me in the booklet. I wanted to ask you something. It's not exactly honest, but I think we can pull it off."

"What is it?"

"Remember when Maureen and Joanne came over before Mimi died and we were talking about family designations?"

"You mean, when she told us that technically, we could be considered common-law partners since we've lived together for so long?"

"Yeah. The insurance company accepts same-sex partners. Would you mind if I wrote your name as my partner? You'd get free insurance. And they cover pre-existing conditions, so your AZT would also be covered, too."

"Go for it. Collins will be proud of you, sticking it to the man like that. Actually I wanted to talk to you, too. I've been trying to work through some things with Doctor Sheffield. He told me I needed to talk to you about what I did to you."

"I told you , Roger. I don't blame you for what happened. You didn't realize what you were doing. I've learned to deal with it."

"I know. But I still have to live with the fact I hurt you. I wish I could take it back."

"Forget regret, Roger." I tried to ease his concerns, but he wouldn't have any of it.

"I've tried to. I'm scared, though. I hurt you so bad. What if I do it again? What if I kill you next time? In one moment I took your hearing from you. What if I lose control again?" He appeared to be on the verge of tears.

Although I knew it was insensitive, I had to ask."Is that why you overdosed?"

With tears in his eyes, he nodded. "I wanted to keep myself from hurting you again. I was trying to protect you."

I took his face in my hands. "Roger, don't you realize that if anything happened to you,it would hurt me even more?"

"I don't understand, Mark." He blinked.

"I'd die without you, Roger. I love you." I let go of him as I confessed. If I didn't have to read his lips, I would have looked away.

"We've been friends practically forever. Of course you love me."

I shook my head. "No, Roger. I mean more than love between two friends. Even more than the love between brothers. You complete me, Roger. You touch my soul and make me who I am. I'm not complete without you."

Roger was in shock. It took him a moment to speak. "Mark, I really don't know what to say."

Disappointed, I looked away. "I'm sorry. It's going to be awkward living together. I'll find a new place."

"Mark, I don't want you to leave. I'm shocked, but it's because I've been working up the courage to tell you that I feel the same way. I love you, too."

With that, he leaned towards me and brushed his lips against mine. It was the first of many kisses we would share in our new lives together.

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_A/N: Many thanks to Challenge Central for planting the idea in my head, my beta, Mel, who will have her work cut out for her after the holidays, and my many loyal readers and reviewers. _

_I decided to end this where it was since there are only fifteen minutes before the deadline and it looked like a logical place to end this. It is most likely that I will post an epilogue as a separate story at a later time. It's working title is Beyond the Silent Curtain. _


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